2022-10-28: RETICULAR
- Log: 2022-10-28: RETICULAR
- Cast: Shelby Korts
- Where: < THIS SPACE INTENTIONALLY LEFT BLANK >
- Date: U.C. 0096 10 28
- Summary: A dream, a half-remembered memory. It isn't real, but it is. It wasn't her, but was it?
The vanity was an expensive piece. Marble countertops polished to perfection; cabinets made from imported woods from Europe. Each, older than she herself is -- but it is the mirror that holds the gaze of Shelby Korts. Staring at herself, her expression empty, devoid of thought and emotion, putting the finisHHINg touches that twist strawberry blonde hair into a long, tight bun at the back of her head with a laquered clip.
Her hair wasn't as red as her husband's, or her daughterS, but that was not much of an issue for her. The family is united in this decision, she declared it, and that was enough. It would be better for everyoneWHEN YOU WERE GONE. The thoughts that crept into her mind-- she knew better than to let them linger there for too long: Someone might be listening.
"Madame, the car is arriving," the maid said.
"Thank you, )!*&$%*."
She turned to leave the roOMarrived outside immediately as the car pulled up. GovRMBHt black, with three men in suits with boxy-cut jackets. The outline of the pistol holsters were obvious.
The child was brought forward. Vivid rED HAir, large round glasses with impossibly thin frames that sat on her nose. Shelby spared A GlAnce back to the b----- wIth disdaiN; she didn't care if he d--approved. He NEw his place. She's doing this for the good of the
"No you didn't."
The voice came from the child, looking up at her with her arms at her sides. Her face was blank-- not figuratively, but literally a blank, but still the impression of her mouth was simultaneously there and not, speaking plainly. Small fingers curled around Shelby's hand, and she said,
"Because ... you weren't there."
Shelby's eyes snapped open as she sucked in a deep gasp of air. The room was little more than a cold closet, the only light coming from the ambiance of the surrounding buildings. Noise buzzed at the periphery of her senses, both physical and extrasensory: It wasn't just that it was loud, it was so silent that it was a deafening cacophany that didn't make sense.
Her hair was messy and long; she hadn't had a bath in a week since it all happened, and she can't even remember how it happened-- but she's here, tucked tightly in the abandoned building's guts, so far from that Hell she escaped but so close she could still see the perimeter fence. The lights were out. Had she ever seen the building like this before? She had no glasses, her arms itched; days old blood clinging to her forearms from where she pulled the tubing out. On both arms, haphazardly criss-crossed band-aids ran down the inside of her elbows and down to her wrists where They did iEVERYTHINGt.
Every time she grasped for a thought, a memory, a reason, all that came back was holes and nothing and darkness, like cigarette burns snapping cellophane reels. Nothing, and nothing, and--
Knock.
Knock.
Kn̤̟͓̩͖̳̗͋̈́̈ͪ̈́ͬͯoc͔̱̳͔̰͓̓͊̈ͨ͂͊k̳͕̩̼̹̱̖̎ͦͭ̾ͧͯ́.̻͓̮͔͉͖͙̅ͨ͊ͦ̆̌̿
Shelby's arms and legs curled tighter around the knapsack she managed to find before running away, stuffed with clothes that were not her own. The child's voice spoke again, muffled through the door but still inside her own mind. Dim golden light tinged with red at the edges bled through the crack at the floor, and then she said,
"She won't find me in here."
Shelby Korts opened her eyes with a gasp, staring at the ceiling of her Sweetwater apartment. With a loud thud, the half-dressed young woman sprinted from her corner-tucked bed and made it to the bathroom with enough time to get the lights on, down to her knees, and get the lid up.
It wasn't the first time she woke the neighbors at three in the morning from an episode like this. They understood.
Minutes later, washing her mouth out and wiping some of the sweat that drenched her away, Shelby planted her hands on the old cheap sink and leaned forward. She swore she could feel the colony spin beneath her feet. She stared at her reflection in the small medicine cabinet mirror, thinking the incidental thoughts first: Her fiery red roots needed a touchup. The old scars on her head are fading. Her arms are still a bit of a mess.
I've made peace with knowing I'll probably never know who I was, she once confessed to Anser.
Shelby settled down into the corner of the bathroom, sitting with her head against the wall, eyes half-lidded from lingering exhaustion.
"Liar," she whispered.